The Inquisitor and the Diplomat
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: Vidomeda Adaar - trained actor, musician, assassin, alchemist, mercenary - never expected to be made Inquisitor. Nor did she expect to fall in love with Josephine Montilyet. Yet both of those very unexpected things happened. A collection of short stories and drabbles written in response to writing challenges.
1. Homecoming

**A/N:** This is a collection of short drabbles and stories featuring Inquisitor Vidomeda Adaar and Josephine Montilyet. These are mostly fluffy and romantic in nature, a place for me to dump all of my fluff and other stuff for them (though there could be some angst as well). As I write them as I receive prompts, they will be out of chronological order.

Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

 **Homecoming**

They crested the hill together and for the first time Vidomeda saw Antiva City.

It was a sprawling, glittering puzzle of marble and metal and water, canals cutting zigzagged paths across the city like the patterns in a child's kaleidoscope. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to the city's design; it had merely grown, organically, until it had taken its current shape and form.

It was mesmerizing.

And somehow terrifying.

Though Vidomeda doubted that it was really the city's confusing patterns that were scaring her (not that she would ever admit that she was afraid).

"It's beautiful, is it not?" Josephine said happily, smiling widely from her saddle. She patted the neck of her white mare as she gazed fondly at her hometown. "It's been years since I have seen her. Antiva City."

"Mhm."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right?"

Vidomeda was jolted from her stupor. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"No reason," Josephine said. "It's just you looked… Well. You looked… Anxious."

"Me? Anxious?" Vidomeda blew out a puff of air as she brushed a lock of black hair off of her forehead, hooking it behind her right horn. "I'm never anxious. I was the Inquisitor. What would make me anxious?"

Josephine sighed. "You're very transparent, you know."

Vidomeda's shoulders fell. "Shit," she muttered. "I knew you would see right through me."

"Again, because you're _very_ transparent."

Josephine glanced behind her at the road. Failing to find swift passage home, she and Vidomeda had chosen to take the scenic route. After a passage by ship to the Free Marches, they had had a pleasant journey on horseback through Antiva's rich countryside towards the capital. That was all coming to an end now. Feeling the anticipation of her homecoming, they had raced ahead of their carriages and escort. They had little to fear this close to the city—they were mostly surrounded by vineyards and farms. And even if bandits decided to attack two ladies on the road, one of them was both a talented mage and a towering Qunari who could dispatch a high dragon without breaking a sweat.

Bandits would probably keep their distance.

"What's wrong?" Josephine asked.

"I just…" Vidomeda paused, looking out at the sprawling city again. It seemed so close now. There was no turning back. "This feels so real," she said. "Coming here with you, coming to live with your family… A Vashoth mercenary living in the house of an Antivan noble family? Do you know what kind of gossip that's going to create?"

Josephine nodded. "I'm well aware. I've taken steps to combat it. Though you will find that Antiva is not as… _uptight_ as Orlais." She chuckled. "Since when do you care about gossip?"

"Since… Since I realized that I'd be meeting your parents soon enough." Vidomeda made a face. "You turned over a marriage contract because of me."

"If I remember correctly, Lord Ortranto overturned the marriage contract because of _us."_ Josephine leaned over and reached out with a gloved hand. "Everything will be all right," she said, taking Vidomeda's hand in her own. "I promise. My family loves you already. You met Yvette, did you not? She was over the moon! Oh, the letters I received from her—and Mother says she hasn't stopped talking about you since the night of the Halamshiral ball!"

Vidomeda sighed. "I am being silly, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Josephine replied. "This is a change. We are all nervous before change, especially the most significant ones in our lives, no?"

Vidomeda squeezed her hand. "Why are you so perfect?" she sighed.

"Because I try very, very hard," Josephine said lightly, her smile brightening her eyes. "Shall we?"

"I'll race you."

"I'll win."

"You don't know that until you do!"

Vidomeda and Josephine took off down the hill and across the countryside, their cheeks flushed and their colourful cloaks flowing out behind them as their galloping horses headed for home.


	2. How to Fix the World in Ten Minutes

**How to Fix the World in Ten Minutes**

"…you would not believe the scandal this has caused! Months of work and all for nothing! All because of a petty feud between the Marquise and the Comte, who could triumph over the other in this _game_ of wit and sex and greed. Who would have guessed the Marquise would use her own niece's virginity as a pawn in a larger game? Who would have known that the Comte would have gone along with the seduction, simply in order to gain another favour? And now the Comte is dead and a young chevalier is to blame for his death, and now House Merteuil and House Danceny are at war with one another and their vote cannot be counted upon."

Josephine wearily rubbed her forehead as her whirling pacing came to a halt in front of the fireplace, the train of her gold-and-black dress clumping at her feet. Vidomeda sipped at her tea, having listened to the entire tirade for a good quarter of an hour. The teacup was from a set that had been a gift from Josephine's sister, Yvette—colourful porcelain inlaid with gold. Pretty, dainty, breakable—exactly the kind of thing Vidomeda couldn't have owned when she was leading a mercenary company.

She loved it.

"I do not know what to do, Meda," Josephine said, running her hand over her face. "This situation has… slipped from my grasp."

Vidomeda set down her teacup and got up. She crossed over to Josephine and took her gently by the arm, steering her towards the couch. "What you need," she said, sitting down again and pulling Josephine with her, "is to _relax."_

"Relax? At a time like this? How I can when so much—"

Vidomeda took Josephine's fluttering hands in hers. "No. There is nothing more you can do, especially from here. You're miles away. Even if you discover a solution right now and write your letters, it will still take several nights for Leliana's ravens to reach their destination. You can't fix this right now. And," she paused, hand against Josephine's cheek, "I'm not sure you should."

Josephine sighed, looking down. "I can't _not_ do anything."

"The world isn't yours to fix, Josephine. Especially not within the next ten minutes."

As if to emphasize her statement, lightning cracked and thunder boomed outside. A torrential storm had descended upon Skyhold, rain lashing the castle with fury that made it feel like it had escaped from the Breach itself. Vidomeda had taken the opportunity to retreat to her quarters with Josephine, but Josephine had somehow managed to make the evening completely about work.

It was a very Josephine thing to do.

"I know," Josephine said.

Vidomeda reached up and took a pin out of Josephine's hair. A bundle of braids and curls fell free, gracefully curling around her shoulders. Slowly, Vidomeda began to unbraid it, combing out the snarls with her fingers. She loved Josephine's hair. It was so long, so soft, so shiny—much unlike her own, which was thick and coarse and more like a horse's mane than anything else.

Josephine let out a contented sigh as Vidomeda stroked her hair. "But if I can make a difference, I must try, must I not?" she said, closing her eyes.

"You do know you're asking the ex-mercenary in the room whether she should or should not always make the morally appropriate decision?" Vidomeda said, as she unravelled the last braid. She tossed Josephine's hair around her shoulder, then began to braid it back into a series of woven plaits starting at her temples and flowing down around her shoulders. Warrior braids. Josephine had once been a bard—she had wielded weapons. She wondered what she would look like armed.

It was a delightful little fantasy, though she would never dare ask Josephine to pick up a weapon. The way her time as a bard had come to an end still haunted her.

"Yes, but you're no longer a mercenary," Josephine said. "You are the Inquisitor. And, unlike me, you _do_ have a world to fix."

Vidomeda glanced out the window. Despite the darkness of the clouds gathered by the storm, she could still make out the brief flashes of green emitting from the Breach, oh so far up in the sky. It was pretty—at times. And other times it was downright terrifying.

"Don't remind me," she said.

"It's my job to remind you," Josephine said.

"This isn't the time or place for jobs," Vidomeda said, kissing her cheek. She lingered briefly by Josephine's ear. "That's what _I'm_ supposed to remind _you_ of." She nipped Josephine's ear lightly, which earned a smile and a chuckle.

"Oh, I see. You're trying to distract me from my duty."

Vidomeda raised an eyebrow. She slid across the couch and wrapped an arm around Josephine's waist. "Is that such a bad thing?" she murmured, brushing Josephine's hair aside and kissing her neck. She smelled of flowers and citrus—comforting scents Vidomeda had associated with her long before they had become lovers. Her hand trailed up Josephine's golden bodice.

"No," Josephine said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Not at all. I just have many things on my mind right now—"

Vidomeda slipped her hand inside the bodice, enjoying the soft brush of Josephine's skin against her fingers. She kissed Josephine's cheek. Josephine gasped, a small moan escaping from her lips.

"Meda!" she exclaimed. "You are—"

"Just what you need right now?" Vidomeda asked coyly. She removed her hand from Josephine's bodice and slid off the couch so she was kneeling in front of Josephine. She snaked her fingers around the laces of Josephine's bodice, fingers aching to untie them. "What do you think, Josie?"

Josephine placed her hands over Vidomeda's. "I can't say I wouldn't mind," she said huskily, leaning forwards and planting a kiss on Vidomeda's lips.

Vidomeda was already undoing the laces. She kissed Josephine fervently even as she pulled her bodice down. A fire stirred deep in her stomach and she pushed Josephine down into the couch, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her chin, her neck, down and down, trailing along her warm skin. Josephine gasped, her fingers reaching out for Vidomeda, nails scratching the back of her neck as they ran through her tangled hair.

"You do need to relax, after all," Vidomeda said, looking up at Josephine and winking at her.

Josephine laughed. "I do!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I very much do."

Vidomeda grinned. She gazed at Josephine, at her half-naked form lying on the couch, her perfectly sculptured face, her beautiful, mussed hair, her shining skin, the mole just beneath her left breast. She unlaced the back of her own shirt and pulled it off, her small, dark breasts bouncing against her chest. Then she tugged at the clasps on Josephine's skirt, pulling it down and tossing it free. She leaned over her beautiful lover once more and kissed her fully and firmly on the mouth, their tongues slipping between their lips as they rocked together, Vidomeda's hands running over her lover's body, fingers gently caressing the most intimate parts of her.

Josephine's head arced back against the couch's throw pillows, her eyes closed, her face flushed as she let her pleasure rush across her. Vidomeda loved making love to her—there was a simple joy in seeing her like this, honest, genuine, relaxed, no fears, no concerns eating away at her.

She didn't have enough moments like these.

"That's good," Josie breathed. "Meda, that's _very_ good—oh!"

The sound of Josephine's joyous breath—panting and heaving, panting and heaving—echoing across the chamber. Vidomeda grinned, planting kisses further down Josephine's stomach, trailing down and down, sucking in the glorious taste and smell and sound of her.

"Oh!"

That was a different kind of oh.

"Oh, Maker! I know how I can fix this!"

Vidomeda paused. She raised her head and leaned back. "What can you fix?"

Josephine wiggled herself up the couch until she was sitting upright. "The feud between the Merteuils and the Dancenys! I must organize a party—no, _two_ parties, soirées to be exact. And I must invite the Comte to one and the Marquise to the other, and—"

Vidomeda drew away and sat on the edge of the couch. "What happened to relaxing?" she asked.

"Oh!" Josephine blushed. "I _was_ relaxed. That's how I solved the problem! I could finally think freely without being concerned about the minutiae!" She swept forwards and kissed Vidomeda lightly on the lips. "And it is all thanks to you, Meda." She paused. "And it didn't even take ten minutes," she added with a wink.

Vidomeda stared at her and then burst out laughing. "I love you, you know," she said, pressing her forehead against Josephine's.

Josephine smiled. "I know." She kissed Vidomeda again, then stood and rapidly began to dress. "Perhaps we can return to this after I write my letters?" she said, looking at her coyly from under dark lashes.

Vidomeda chuckled. "Absolutely."


	3. Snow

**Snow**

Snowflakes fell lazily from the grey sky, whirling and dancing in the air before tumbling onto the thick white blanket that already coated the Skyhold grounds. The snow had come upon them unexpectedly overnight. The evening before, the castle had been in the last vestiges of autumn. Now they had been thrust deep into the depths of winter.

Vidomeda loved it.

Growing up as she had (roaming the northern coasts of Rivain and Antiva with a travelling band of players), she had never seen snow. She would encounter travellers from the south who spoke of cold days and endless nights, but it was something that seemed so far-fetched, so fantastical to a child of endless summer. She remembered distinctly the first time she had seen snow as an adult. She had been huddled in the attic of a run-down cottage, somewhere in the middle of Orlais. Her mercenary company was surrounded by the very same bandits they had been hired to kill (it was early days… everyone had to start somewhere). The tables had been turned on them and they were slowly being smoked out of their hiding place when snow began to fall. Vidomeda remembered it dusting the windowsill of the attic window. The storm hit, and hit hard, scattering the bandits to the wind while Vidomeda and her company remained safe within the walls of the cottage.

It had felt almost magical, like they were touched by fate. Nature had come to their rescue that day. And snow always reminded her of it.

(It also reminded her of how she had almost died after the Battle of Haven, but she tried not to dwell on that too much.)

"You can be such a child, you know."

Vidomeda grinned as she stood in front of the entrance to the great hall, squishing snow beneath her boots. She was dressed warmly, in a large grey cloak and a thick red scarf. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Josephine folded her arms. She stood beyond the threshold, her lips frowning at snow threatening to blow its way into the hall. Unlike Vidomeda, she was not dressed to go outside in this weather. "No," Josephine said. "Not at all. I just happen to not enjoy this variety of weather as much as you do."

"It's just snow, Josie."

"It's cold and it's wet, that's what it is," she said prickly.

"It's _glorious._ "

"No matter how glorious it is, you don't need to stand in it to appreciate it." Josephine shuddered and drew her arms even tighter around her chest. "Or, at least, I prefer to appreciate its prettiness from a distance."

Vidomeda blew a raspberry. "That's no fun and you know it," she said. She thrust out a hand, dangling it in front of Josephine. "Come on. It won't bite, I promise."

"Then why do we have the word _frostbite?"_ Josephine said.

Vidomeda sighed. "Here," she said, shrugging out of her long, fur-lined cloak. "Will this help?"

She draped the cloak over Josephine's shoulders. Then she loosened her scarf and, tugging it free, wrapped it around Josephine's neck and face. Stepping back, she observed her grumpy lover, who was now disappearing into the mountain of material. It was all too large for her. The cloak dragged a couple of feet on the ground, whisking along the stone floor. The scarf, pulled tight around the lower half of Josephine's face so it covered everything from her nose down, trailed behind her like a very long, very bright veil.

Josephine eyes narrowed and she said something. Unfortunately, Vidomeda could not hear what it was as her voice was muffled by the scarf.

"Sorry, what?" she said.

" _Mmmhmm hmmm mm hmmm!"_ Josephine repeated.

"I have no idea what you just said."

Josephine waddled forwards, her movement impaired by the cloak. She grabbed Vidomeda's hand and crossed the threshold, stepping gingerly into the snow. Snowflakes danced around them as they reached the edge of the stone stairs that overlooked the upper courtyard. Josephine continued to mutter something into her scarf.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Vidomeda leaned forwards and pulled down the scarf. "What were you saying?"

"I am braving both the cold _and_ Madame Vivienne's appalled look and tepid future remarks for this," Josephine said, glancing upwards at the Court Enchanter's balcony. Vidomeda could just make out Vivienne scowling down at them from above. "No doubt that means I love you," she added, her fingers curling around the edge of the scarf. She smiled, her eyes lighting up.

"No doubt," Vidomeda echoed. She swooped down and kissed Josephine lightly on the mouth. "Thank you for indulging me," she added.

"Perhaps the snow isn't _that_ bad," Josephine said, standing up on tiptoe and planting a kiss on Vidomeda's mouth in return.

Vidomeda swept her into an embrace, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around, Josephine's gleeful laughter echoing around the courtyard.

The snow continued to fall.


	4. A Night at the Theatre

**A Night at the Theatre**

The playhouse was bright with light and raucous laughter. The players—who were now shouting over the audiences' wild jests, competing for their attention—were somewhere in the middle of the fourth act. The sun had set, leaving stage to be lit only by lantern and candlelight. The audience was tightly packed together, standing in rowdy clumps, pushing and shoving to get a better view of the stage or whatever brawl had taken over the crowd's attention in the prevailing moment. Servers in colourful clothes squeezed their way through patrons, answering to demand after demand for more ale, more wine and more food. Drink splashed on the ground, food was thrown in people's faces, and more than one brawl had to be split up by a few ushers carrying wooden bats.

All in all, it was an ordinary evening at a Rivaini playhouse.

Vidomeda was used to being on the other side, performing on the stage, hollering into the din. She had grown up with a travelling troupe of players who had frequented playhouses all along the Antivan Rivaini coasts. She had vivid memories of being a gangly teenager and the troupe's manager taking one look at her, shrugging her shoulders, throwing a large cone-shaped princess hat over her horns and pushing her onstage to play the part of the young woman in love. At the time she had been scandalized—a gawky, pimply grey-skinned Vashoth towering over everyone else playing a role like that? She was certain she was going to have food thrown at her until she ran off the stage. But the audiences were receptive and no one said anything about the horn poking through the hat's fabric by the end of the second act.

Vidomeda had fond memories of her time with the players. It had been a very long time since she had stepped foot in a playhouse like this and she was enjoying every moment of it.

"I don't understand what's happening," Josephine said. Her eyes had been glued to the stage the entire evening, either out of respect for the art or because she was desperately trying to ignore the drunks arm wrestling and spitting their drink all over each other four feet over to her left. She took a swig of red wine and swirled the remaining drink around in her cup.

"It's easy," Vidomeda said. "Here, listen." She tilted back her head and make a dramatic gesture of finishing off her own drink. She smacked her lips as she lowered her tankard, then spoke rapidly. "Andalus—the servant over there, the one in the red—is trying to win his freedom by helping his master woo the girl who lives next door, but all that goes awry when—"

"Yes, I understood _that,"_ Josephine interrupted. "I don't understand what's happening right now."

"Oh. Andalus believes he has failed in his mission and he is now drinking his sorrows away."

"…is that why he's rolling around on the floor clutching a wine barrel?"

"Yes," Vidomeda said.

"I thought this was billed as a tragedy," Josephine said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Vidomeda gasped in mock shock. "Never! Why would you go to a playhouse to see a tragedy? You want to be entertained, not become a weeping mess by the end of the night!"

Josephine looked down, balancing her drink in one hand as she dug through her purse with the other. Muttering softly to herself, she eventually withdrew a rolled up pamphlet from her purse. "Well, it _looked_ like a tragedy," she said, awkwardly unfurling the paper with one hand and scanning it again. "Look here, it says—"

Someone bumped into her from behind. Josephine screeched in surprise and fell forwards, her wine splashing out of her cup. She crashed into Vidomeda, who dropped her tankard and caught her with her right arm. and she fell forwards, crashing into Vidomeda. Vidomeda caught her with her right arm, steadying her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, looking at Josephine, concern on her face . "Because I can go hit him if you want me to. I might only have one hand, but I can still rock a punch."

"No!" Josephine exclaimed. She tucked the pamphlet away, then quickly finished off her wine. She looked around for a passing servant and, seeing none, politely set it on the ground. "No, Meda," she said. "Don't do that. That is entirely unnecessary. It was a little bump."

"Just as long as you're all right," Vidomeda said. "I didn't suggest we come here so you could get trampled by drunk theatre patrons."

"Oh?" Josephine said, arching an eyebrow. "You were worried about this? _This_ is nothing. Or else you haven't spent enough time with the Orlesians at the opera." She grinned, her smile brightening her face. She started to giggle, and pressed a hand against her lips. "Can I speak honestly, Meda? This is _much_ better."

"I see," Vidomeda said, pulling Josephine closer, her hand pressed against her back. "Do tell."

"Orlesian theatre, while grand and epic, is far too… polite, shall we say," Josephine said.

"Polite? They lit fireworks in the auditorium."

"Yes, but everyone is seated and respectful and the attention is always on the First Actor," Josephine said. "This is much more… real. Even if there are idiot buffoons sitting on the edge of the stage."

Vidomeda glanced at the stage. Sure enough, several of the patrons had taken it upon themselves to plunk their smelly asses on the edge of the stage. The company had adjusted accordingly and had incorporated the disruption into the scene, like true professionals.

"You see?" Josephine said. "Anything can go wrong and it makes _everything_ go better! I love it!" She laughed gleefully, then stood on her tip-toes and planted a kiss on Vidomeda's lips. "I can even kiss you in the audience without insulting three different lords, inciting a duel and breaking an alliance with a marquise."

Vidomeda grinned and swept her into a tight embrace. "I like where this is going." She bent her head, swooped down and kissed Josephine on the cheek. "And I'm glad," she murmured. "This is fun."

"It _is,"_ Josephine said, eyes dancing.

Vidomeda kissed her soundly. She closed her eyes, listening to the roars of the crowd and the bellows of the actor playing Altus as he grappled with the wine barrel. For a moment, it all faded and it was just her and Josephine, in the middle of the crowd, and everything felt perfect.


End file.
